Drawer Marked 'Blackmail'
by ViventLesPeuples
Summary: Grantaire gets locked out of his flat and makes an unexpected discovery... (Modern AU) xx


Life sucked, Grantaire decided. He was sat in the cold hall outside the crappy one bedroomed flat he shared with Bahorel, waiting for his friend to come home. It was already past midnight and he had been there for over three hours now. About an hour ago he'd smoked his last cigarette and by now he was frozen and really needed a drink. For what felt like the hundredth time he knocked on the door in the vain hope that his flatmate had just fallen asleep and hadn't heard him knocking. No such luck, he thought crossly, when nobody came to the door. Of course he could have given up and gone to stay with one of his other friends for the night, but he didn't have any money for a taxi and he really didn't fancy walking in the pouring rain. Better to just wait here and hope Bahorel would be back soon.

Shivering Grantaire pulled his faded leather jacket tighter around his shoulder and ran a hand though his messy, dark curls. His nails were dirty, rough and jagged and he had bitten them right down to the quick. He hadn't shaved since yesterday and his clothes clung to him where they were damp from the rain. In short he looked like shit. Actually he felt like shit too.

The student sighed and let his head fall back against the door with a thud. The perfect way to end a bad day, he thought bitterly, wishing he had something to drink. Everything seemed so much worse when sober, the argument with Enjolras, the essay he'd forgotten all about, the fine for forgetting to return a stupid library book and then to top it all his phone, keys and wallet had been stolen on his way home.

Somewhere down the hall a door banged open and he could briefly here somebody shouting and a woman crying before the door slammed shut again. Above him the light flickered several times and then went out altogether, plunging Grantaire into complete darkness. Now that he couldn't see anything the sound of the rain pounding against the small, grimy window at the end the the corridor and the wind whipping round the building sounded deafeningly loud. Grantaire wrapped his arms tighter around himself and closed his eyes. Ever since he had been very small he had hated being in the dark. By now he couldn't even remember why, but he always had to have a night light in his room, something Bahorel teased him about mercilessly. This evening was just getting better and better.

Trying his best to say calm Grantaire tried to think of something nice. Automatically his mind wandered to Enjolras, the man he had loved for years, another thing for Bahorel to tease him about. He pictured Enjolras sat leaning over a book, reading intently, his pale blonde curls falling into his eyes. With a sigh Grantaire wondered what it would feel like to brush his hair out of his face. This was always how he thought of Enjolras, studying or talking about something he was passionate about, never doing anything sexual, as some of his friends seemed to think. For some reason that just didn't seem right. With another mournful sigh Grantaire rested his chin on his knees. There was no point even thinking about it. Enjolras just wasn't interested in him, actually he wasn't interested in anybody.

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of two pairs of feet approaching through the darkness. They reached the top of the stairs and Grantaire heard the floorboard at the end of the corridor creak as they came towards him, instead of carrying on up. He shrank back into the doorway, not particularly wanting to be tripped over in the dark. For the sound of it the feet belonged to two men, as they sounded too heavy to be a woman. They were moving slowly, tripping and stumbling, almost as if they were drunk.

For a brief second Grantaire couldn't help thinking maybe he could ask them if they still had any alcohol with them. Obviously he knew it was stupid to ask a complete stranger for a drink, but he really did need one by now. As he considered it Joly's alarmed voice suddenly popped into his head, demanding to know what the hell he thought he was doing and warning him about the dangers of taking drinks from strangers. Silently he cursed himself for being so pathetic and wished for the hundredth time that he wasn't stuck outside in the hall.

Meanwhile the two men had almost reached him and now he could even make out the sound of their breathing. Suddenly there was a dull thud from their direction and Grantaire heard the air be knocked out of somebody's lungs. For a second he thought they were fighting, but then one of them let out a moan of pleasure and the other one chuckled. Not fighting then, something completely different.

At that moment the light above them flickered and came on, illuminating the scene with a bright neon glow, that made Grantaire blink and cover his eyes. The two figures leaning against the wall opposite him didn't even seem to notice. The taller one was pinning the smaller one against the wall with a bone-crushing grip and licking and nipping the side of his neck, making the smaller man squirm and toss his head from side to side. Neither of them noticed the man huddled on the floor in the doorway.

Not wanting to appear like he was creepily watching them Grantaire got to his feet and cleared his throat nosily. The bigger man turned to look at him, about to ask what he wanted, and Grantaire suddenly recognised him. "Bahorel?"

"Oh, it's you," Bahorel didn't seem that concerned about being caught making out with some one in the hallway, "What are you doing sat out here in the dark?"

"My fucking key was stolen. I've been waiting for you to get back for hours." Suddenly Grantaire felt absolutely furious with his unreliable flatmate. He had been sat outside, getting cold for hours and now Bahorel had the cheek to come home at past midnight with some guy... Grantaire frowned. Wasn't Bahorel going out with a girl from university? Since when did he like guys? This was definitely turning into one of the weirdest evenings ever, the annoyed student decided.

"You should have phoned me," Bahorel said with a casual shrug that just made his friend feel even more like punching him in the face, "I suppose you want me to let you in then." He let go of the man he was still crushing into the wall and rummaged in his pocket for his key.

"Other pocket," a familiar voice told him when he couldn't seem to locate the key and Grantaire realised that he knew the other figure as well. Feuilly gave him a cheerful wave and pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. Lighting one he lent back against the neighbour opposite's door and watched the confusion on Grantaire's face with amusement. His long, scruffy, red hair was sticking up all over the place like somebody had been running their hands through it and the brown beanie he always wore had been knocked off and was now lying at his feet.

Finally Bahorel found the key and unlocked the door for them. He gave Grantaire a mock bow, as he marched past into their tiny flat, and winked at Feuilly, who grabbed his hat, pulled it back on and followed the other two inside.

Grantaire made straight for the kitchen and began rooting through the cupboards for something drinkable. Typically all he could find was half a bottle of vodka that had been in the back of the fridge for months, but he poured some into a mug anyway and took a massive gulp of it.

"That's so sad." He turned round to see Bahorel leaning in the doorway, smirking at him. "The first thing you do is rush inside and get a drink. You're not even picky about what it is, are you?"

"Oh, piss off." Grantaire pushed past him and dropped onto the old, faded sofa, that also served as his bed. A dirty pair of jeans was hanging over one of the arms and Grantaire fished a cigarette out of the pocket and lit it, leaning back with a sigh. "So what were you two doing?", he asked talking another sip of the vodka, "I thought you were going out with what's-her-name, that girl from Jehan's course."

Bahorel collapsed onto the sofa beside him. "Yeah, I dumped her."

Sat on the floor opposite them Feuilly lit another cigarette. He hadn't said anything and Grantaire wondered idly if maybe he found the whole situation more embarrassing than he was letting on, though that seemed unlikely as Feuilly wasn't easily embarrassed.

"What d'you dump her for?"

The law student grinned and put his feet up on the table. "Just realised she wasn't really my type." Leaning over he plucked Grantaire's cigarette from his hand and inhaled deeply. "These are shit, you know," he said conversationally and tossed the half-smoked cigarette out of the window.

Bahorel was really starting to piss him off, Grantaire fumed silently to himself. Not only was he an infuriatingly unreliable bastard, he had also just thrown Grantaire's last cigarette, _his last one_, out of a seventh-floor window. "You can be a right arsehole at times, you know that?" He got up and shoved viciously past Bahorel's legs into the kitchen to pour the last of the vodka into his mug.

From the other room he heard his friend's voice call after him: "Hey, you noticed. You're not as stupid as you look."

With a scowl he slammed the empty bottle down and stomped back into the living room. Bahorel was still sprawled untidily on the sofa but Feuilly had put his cigarette out and got to his feet. "See you guys tomorrow. Too bad about your key, Grantaire. If I can find it, I'll bring your spare one over tomorrow."

Somehow Grantaire wasn't at all surprised that the carpenter had a spare key to their flat. It sort of figured really. "Yeah, whatever," he grunted flinging himself down as far away from Bahorel as possible.

"Where the hell d'you think your going?" Suddenly Bahorel was sat bolt upright looking outraged, glaring at Feuilly's retreating back.

Feuilly turned round, one hand on the door handle and raised an eyebrow. "I'm going home." 

"The fuck you are! We were in the middle of something!" Grantaire stifled a laugh as the law student leapt angrily to his feet and let out a low growl. "Get back here this instant!"

An angry Bahorel was a truly intimidating sight. At 6ft 6in he was built like a rugby player, basically solid muscle, covered in tattoos with his dark hair cut into a dyed-red mohawk and multiple facial piercings. Combine that with a ferocious scowl, a bruise spreading across one cheek and bloodied knuckles and you have a fair idea of what Bahorel looked like when angry. Not someone to be messed with.

To Feuilly's credit, Grantaire reflected, he didn't seem in the least bit intimidated. In fact, he simply leant casually back against the door and glared right back at his friend/boyfriend/partner, quite frankly Grantaire wasn't quite sure which. "Or what?", the carpenter scoffed, "since when d'you tell me what to do?"

Bahorel smirked in what could only be described as an obscene way. "Since always." In one bound he crossed the space between them and grabbed the carpenter's wrists in a vice-like grip, jerking him forwards so that they were pressed together. Very slowly he ran his tongue down the side of Feuilly's neck occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin, making the smaller man groan and lean against him, closing his eyes.

"I'm still here, you know," Grantaire snarled crossly, from where he was curled on the sofa. This was not something he particularly wanted to see and if he was being really honest it made him feel a bit voyeuristic watching them.

"Well fuck off then," Bahorel growled without looking round at him or letting go of Feuilly.

This was really the final straw for Grantaire. He was cold, tired, fed up and quite frankly had had enough of his selfish room-mate. "Fine," he snapped, jumping to his feet, "I'll just go and sleep in your room then." He waited for a second but his words had absolutely no effect whatsoever on his two friends. Bahorel had pulled Feuilly's t-shirt off and was now kissing and licking his collarbone and running his hands down his sides, leaving red marks where his nails dug into the pale skin.

Without another word Grantaire turned and stormed into the flat's one bedroom and slammed the door as hard as he could behind him. Bahorel's room was a complete mess, clothes were strewn all over the bed, CDs and DVDs littered the floor and the desk was covered in empty coffee mugs. Furiously Grantaire snatched up the law student's clothes, threw them in a pile on the floor, climbed into bed, leaving the light on, and pulled the covers up unnecessarily viscously. From the next room he could still hear his two friends so he covered his head with the pillow, closed his eyes and tried to ignore them.

As he lay waiting to fall asleep Grantaire wondered how Bahorel actually managed to fit in this bed. He was quite a bit smaller than his friend and his feet were almost hanging over the end. No wonder Bahorel had insisted on having the bedroom when they had moved in together. He wouldn't have been able to fit on the sofa. As he thought about this his eyes were slowly falling shut and soon he was fast asleep despite the noise Bahorel and Feuilly were making.

In the morning Grantaire woke up feeling exhausted, with a splitting headache and a sore throat, probably the beginning of a cold after sitting outside the flat for so long. He just lay in bed for a while, considering what he had found out yesterday. Since when had Bahorel and Feuilly been sleeping together and why had they never mentioned it to anybody? When Marius had asked Cosette out the first thing she had done was to tell all her friends about it. Maybe they didn't want anybody to find out? No, that couldn't be it, they hadn't exactly seemed embarrassed about it. Perhaps it was just something casual, not an actual relationship. He supposed it had probably just never come up in conversation. Still, it was a bit hurtful that Bahorel hadn't mentioned it to him. After all they were supposed to be friends and they did share a flat. But then Bahorel had never really been the type to talk about feelings.

With a sigh Grantaire rolled out of bed. The best thing, he decided, was just to not mention anything. Then if they wanted to talk to him about it they could, but he wasn't bringing it up. Feeling awful he dragged himself through to their tiny kitchen. There was no sign of Feuilly anywhere, but Bahorel was leaning on the kitchen table, watching the people walk past below the window. "Morning," Grantaire croaked, sounding every bit as crap as he felt.

"Hey." Bahorel turned to look him up and down. "You look like shit," he said cheerfully, earning himself a filthy glare from Grantaire. Not put off at all Bahorel grinned smugly at him. "Made you this." He lent over, grabbed a plate and a mug of steaming coffee and dumped them unceremoniously on the table in front of his friend.

Tentatively Grantaire peered at the plate, almost expecting to see a disgusting, burnt mess, but was pleasantly surprised to discover that Bahorel had made him scrambled eggs for breakfast. As they didn't look like they were going to give him food poisoning Grantaire nibbled a forkful. Again he was pleasantly surprised, the eggs actually tasted really good. "I didn't know you could cook," he said accusingly through a mouthful of food, "This is really good." The only other time he remembered Bahorel cooking since they had moved in together, was macaroni cheese and it had ended up as a black crisp stuck to the bottom of the pan.

Shrugging Bahorel helped himself to a coffee and flung himself into a chair. "Feuilly showed me how to. He's really good you know." They lapsed into a comfortable silence as neither of them were particularly chatty in the morning and they both preferred to be left alone.

Just as Grantaire had finished his breakfast and was getting up to leave the room Bahorel stopped him with a hand on his arm. "About last night," he paused for a second, "don't tell anyone."

Grantaire shrugged casually. "Yeah, whatever."

Satisfied, Bahorel released his arm. "Thanks, mate," he said, taking a bite of the toast Grantaire hadn't noticed he was holding.

As he walked away, a thought suddenly occurred to the older student and he grinned to himself. _The scrambled eggs were a bribe to keep quiet. _Whatever reason Bahorel and Feuilly had for not wanting the rest of the group to find out about them it was clearly serious enough for Bahorel to be willing to learn to cook to prevent him from talking. It took Grantaire every ounce of self-control he had not to burst out laughing. For someone who looked that tough, his flatmate could be really pathetic at times.

Sniggering to himself, Grantaire filed the information away in the drawer of his brain marked 'blackmail' and let the door swing shut behind him with a snap.


End file.
